


Beside the Rising Fire

by Startabi



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Broken Promises, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Death, Drama, Drinking, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Existential Crisis, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff and Smut, Goodbyes, Hurt/Comfort, Loss of Parent(s), Mutual Pining, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Parent Death, Premarital Sex, Promises, Reader-Interactive, Separations, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, also i cant write for shit boi, like damn bitch, reader has a big 'ol heart
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-30 17:23:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12113577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Startabi/pseuds/Startabi
Summary: All is fair in love and war...right?(THIS FOLLOWS THE EVENTS OF GAME OF THRONES)(I DON'T OWN GEORGE R. R. MARTIN's CHARACTERS OR YOU)





	Beside the Rising Fire

**Author's Note:**

> sooreh it sooks mate

"Father, is Y/N coming with us to King's Landing?"

All eyes at the dinner table jumped to Arya Stark who sat beside you and then over to Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and the man you pledged fealty to the minute you could wield the sword that hung on your hip. 

"Of course Lady Y/N is coming," Sansa scoffed before Lord Stark could answer, "she  _is_  the First Sword for father, aren't you, Y/N."

You swallowed your mouthful of soup and shrugged at the young red-head, "Not yet. You forget my father must hand over his responsibilities before I take his place. Though, I would very much like to accompany you if your Lord father sees it fit." 

In a matter of seconds, three faces morphed into ones of joy while the other four turned to ones of shock. Especially Robb's, whose features blanched then transformed into a one of anger. 

"No! You can't go!" Bran cried, "Who's going to watch me climb and play catch with me once you're gone?"

"I'm sure the other boys in Winterfell will gladly play with you, little lord."

Rickon had his protests as well, but his words were interrupted by Lord Stark who smiled kindly in your direction despite the pinched expression his wife bore. 

"If you wish to follow us to the South, Lady Y/N, then I shall be honored to have a skilled warrior by my side," Eddard hummed, taking a swig of his ale. "I think having an Anson in the South would put my mind at ease."

You sat up straighter in your seat, preening at his words. You always loved receiving compliments from the older man. He became like a second father to you over the years of residing in Winterfell and every praise he spoke meant the world.

"Thank you," you blushed, attempting to hide the excited smile creeping across your lips. "I hope I live up to my family's name." 

Lord Stark hummed and nodded returning to his meal as Arya asked how many adventures you would have together in the South while Bran and Rickon complained loudly. Though, nothing was heard from the eldest Stark. The only reaction you got was an angry scowl. 

You ignored the future Warden of the North and instead engaged in Arya's fantasies that nearly always included wishing for you to teach her swordplay. 

Perhaps you would.

 

~~~~*~~~~

 

You swore loudly in the murky darkness of the tower's steps that led to the library, the word echoing in the dark. You hated climbing the stairs--it took far to long and your sword weighed you down. All in the name of Nathaniel Anson, your brother. 

You finally made it to the heavy oak door that led to the library, the scent of dust and ink filling your nostrils. You quietly glanced around, spotting the darkest corner in the library and made a beeline for it. 

Stacks and stacks of books barricaded your brother, some of them opened for his reference while others were merely stacked for his notes and empty plates. The boy muttered furiously under his breath, hunched over, scribbling on about some toxic flower or another. 

"Nathaniel," you sang, leaning over a pile of books to tap his head. "Your dear sister is here." 

He jolted and squinted up at your face, his ghostly gray eyes meeting your (color) irises. His eyes still unnerved you even after all these years, especially paired with his already gray hair, despite being the same age as Robb Stark. Yet, Nathaniel always looked this way; deathly pale, thin, and sickly looking. Like he could drop dead at any moment. You had been told he had a sickness, but what kind of sickness he suffered was never explained. 

"Hello,  _dear_  sister," he grumbled, his eyes drifting to your sword for a moment then back up to your face. "Has killing things gotten boring already?"

Your eyes rolled. Ever since you were children he had been jealous of you. The envy increased tenfold by the time you completed your training and after your father handed down your House's sword made from dragonglass; Claw. You understood why he felt the way he did; you would have been jealous too if you were as sickly as Nathaniel. You couldn't imagine a life where lifting a chair caused your body to collapse under the strain or never being able to run-- thus his pursuit of becoming a maester. 

"No," you sniffed in response, "I just wished to speak with you about something." 

Nathaniel grumbled under his breath, "Alright, but only if you help me figure out this damn poison Maester Lewin has me studying. I can't find it anywhere in these stupid books!" 

You stuck your hand out, silently asking for the paper he held, reading over it quickly. 

"How can you use this mystery herb for lessening inflammation but yet it causes hallucinations and delirium and possible death?" Your brother sighed in confusion. 

"You over thinking again, Nathaniel," you chuckled, handing him back his notes. "It's Henbane. Don't you remember that Gods awful medicine you took when you were younger?" 

"Yes, I remember," he muttered, his gray brows furrowing. "What is it you wanted?" 

"A 'thank you' would be nice," you huffed, crossing your arms under your breasts. "I just  _wanted_  to tell you that I'm leaving with Eddard Stark for King's Landing." 

Nathaniel's head snapped up, " _What?_ "

"Yes. Though, I think you should be happy I'm leaving. You won't have to see me anymore." 

The boy hobbled up from his seat on the floor, spindly joints cracking as he stood to his full height. He was tall. Taller than Lord Stark and barely rose an inch above your father. You always poked fun at him for his towering height but he always made sure to prod at your own shortened stature in return. Shortness seemed to run in the female half of your family... 

"You're lying," he said, pointing a thing finger in your face. "I know you are."

"Am not! Lord Stark himself asked me earlier this evening!" 

"Liar." 

You threw your hands up in frustration and spun on your heel, stomping back the way you came. 

_Fine._ IfNathaniel wanted to act like he was two and ten,  _fine_. Bloody fine. 

"Why would the Starks let someone like you join them?"

You ignored the hurtful words and slammed the door shut behind you, your angry steps echoing in the dimly lit tower. You hated your brother. Absolutely  _despised_  him. Why couldn't he be happy for you for once in your life? 

You had no idea what the answer to that question is at the moment. Your mind became flooded with too much anger to care. 

Once you stepped outside, the arctic night wind bit your already flushed cheeks and attempted to steal your fur cloak off your person--so you pulled it closer and stormed off to the courtyard. 

There, at least you could imagine slicing your brother into pieces without a mess. 

With an ugly dummy in your sights that resembled Nathaniel the most, you drew your sword and flung your heavy coat off your shoulders. Your fury staved off the cold as you made the first slice into the hay stuffed object, uncaring of the fact that your strokes were sloppy. Your father would have a right, royal fit over your stance but the need to vent your irritation was enough to override the fear of a possible scolding. 

Suddenly, as you raised your sword over your shoulder once more, intending to ruin the dummy even further, a metallic twang was heard and the force of your sword hitting another stopped your blade in its path.  

You whipped around and shot daggers at the man who dared interfere. 

A smirk toyed over Jon Snow's features, brown eyes glinting with a challenge.

"How bold of you, Jon," you seethed, raising your sword in defense. "Asking a lady to dance."

"You promised me one a fortnight ago. I'm only taking up on that offer of yours, Lady Anson," he teased, tapping his blade against yours. 

You huffed and pointed the tip of your dragonglass sword that glinted beautifully in the torchlight, at Jon. You did recall promising him a dual. A wicked grin formed on your lips. 

"Very well, come take your promised dance, then."

At first he started out carefully, testing the waters, watching the way you held yourself--but you weren't interested in playing fair. You moved swiftly and nearly caught Jon's side, but he parried to your chagrin. 

It continued on like this, the loud clang of your swords ringing in the night until your muscles burned and begged for a break. Your next move had you veering to the left then swiftly jumping to the right before Jon's blade nicked you. 

You pivoted around and blocked his next swing, sparks flying off the contact point of your blades. He was fast, you'd give him that--but you were small and much more nimble-footed than Jon was. It was simple finding the spaces he left open, giving you time to bring your blade against his shoulder from behind, using the fuller edge instead of the sharp side. You were angry, but not enough to kill or harm your best friend. 

"Dead." You panted, taking a step back while lowering you sword so the point stabbed into the soft earth. 

"You're so short I couldn't see you," he jested, reaching over to ruffle you hair. "Have you gotten smaller?"

" _No_ ," you hissed, swatting away his hand. 

"What has the Kitten's knickers in a twist?" He laughed, sheathing his sword and raising his hands up in surrender as you took a threatening step towards him. 

You scowled at the nickname. Your House sigil were twin cats, sat pointed away from one another as their tails intertwined. Thus the unfortunate nickname you earned the minute you introduced yourself to the boys of Winterfell. 

"My bloody brother," you responded, sliding the black blade into your sheath. "He thinks I'm lying." 

Jon nodded. Yes, he knew all about your nasty spats with your brother. It was truly a surprise to Jon that the whole of Winterfell hadn't tied you and your sibling on opposite ends of the castle yet. 

"About?"

"About going to King's Landing with your father and the girls," you shrugged, striding over to your forgotten cloak, fingers numb from the cold. "Lord Stark asked me to be his First Sword while we're away." 

Jon felt torn between feeling overjoyed at the news of you becoming First Sword and feeling absolute heartbreak. You were his closest friend (arguably his only one) and the dawning realization of not having you around Winterfell was a gloomy thought. You were his light in the stark gray walls of Winterfell and he had no idea what he would do without you. 

You raised a brow at his conflicted frown. 

"Oh, don't you start too," you sighed. "Robb is already about to snap my neck for leaving; I can't have another Stark boy out for my blood." 

He flinched at your words. He wasn't a Stark and you knew that. He was the infamous bastard of Winterfell who nobody could figure out what to do with. Though, you never treated him any differently for it. In fact,  _you_  were the one to ask Jon in joining the games you played with Theon and Robb all those years ago. To you there was no difference in his name being Snow instead of Stark. 

"I'm not angry, Y/N," he lied through his teeth. "I'm happy for you." 

You would have believed him if not for the way his face twisted in a grimace. 

"I'm sure you are," you said, sarcasm dripping off your words. "You're a terrible liar, you know." 

The tips of Jon's ears turned pink.

"I just-" he started, pausing once you both arrived to your end of the tower. "It's just-I'll miss you, Y/N. Winterfell won't be the same once you go."

You swallowed and bit your lip, dropping your eyes to avoid the warm, mahogany brown ones that belonged to Jon. You understood what he meant. You were always by each other's side--it was rare to see you apart. You shared everything with one another from secrets to food, even sharing a bed once in a blue moon if neither of you wanted to make the voyage from one tower to another.  

And now...now you were leaving as if he meant less to you than the mud stuck on the bottom of a boot. 

"Jon...I'm not leaving forever..." You sighed, brushing back a strand of hair behind your ear, still refusing to meet his eye. 

"Aye, until you meet a handsome lord that whisks you away on his white stallion," he joked, a sad smile ghosting over his lips. "I'll come to the wedding." 

You guffawed and punched his arm, "Who says I'll let a lord whisk me away?" 

"A beggar boy, then?" 

You gasped in mock offence and placed a hand over your heart, sending Jon into a fit of laughter. "A  _beggar_  boy? Jon Snow, I am a  _lady!"_

"Hardly," he laughed, ruffling your hair once more before opening the heavy oak door for you. 

"Insulting a lady twice in one evening! I never-" you cried, smiling a bright smile that filled your whole face, your spirited eyes glittering in the torchlight from inside the tower. 

Jon wondered when you became so beautiful in his mind. Your faint freckles that dotted your cheeks became prominent as your laughter reddened your full cheeks. You told him you hated them, but he thought them endearing. He thought many other things about you were endearing, but some of those thoughts were better left untouched. 

"Stop staring," you chided after recovering from your giggles. "It's rude." 

"I'm afraid I'll forget your face, Y/N," he admitted softly, daring to tuck another lock of hair that fell from your braid behind the shell of your ear. 

A heavy blush that you hoped the chill in the air hid, replaced your giddy grin. Jon never touched or spoke to you in this manner. He was always reserved about psychical touch, especially with you. You suspected it had something to do with the fact you were a lady and he a bastard of the North even though you've made clear to the man that he could never disgust you. 

"You won't," you stated firmly, snatching his gloved hand in your own. You squeezed it and gave him a reassuring smile. "I think your mind would remember an ugly face like mine."

He disagreed. You were stunning beyond his comprehension and although the words rested on the tip of his tongue, he spoke none of it. How could you love a bastard? You were too perfect in his mind. No one like you would stoop so low to love him. 

He quickly dropped your hand, red staining his pale cheeks before bidding you a goodnight, unaware of the pitying look upon your features. 

You loved him too, more than words could describe but you owned a fickle heart and that said heart loved another as well...

 

~~~~*~~~~

 

The next morning, bleary eyed and still swaying with sleep, you sat yourself beside your father in the Great Hall. 

"Mornin'," he huffed out, raising a piece of blackened toast to his bearded lips. 

You grunted out a response and stole the other half of his breakfast, wincing at the taste of the charred bread. You had no idea how your father ate this daily. He either had no taste buds or ate burnt bread of a spite for someone in his life. You had an inkling it was the latter--your father could hold a grudge until the day he would die. 

"I heard about your plan to leave," he said after a moment, ignoring the weary stare you gave. "I cannot say I'm fond of the idea, but if you wish to be the First Sword of Winterfell someday, then I suppose this will be beneficial." 

You sighed in relief and stole one of your father's sausages on his plate. You were happy he approved but some little part of you wished he said no. It would solve you current issue of heartache. 

"You look upset by my answer," he pointed out, slapping your hand away when you attempted to grab another sausage.  

"I'm not." 

Your father shrugged, his graying hair shifting over his shoulders as he moved. He was only two years senior to Lord Stark but raising two children on his own aged him faster. You briefly tried remembering a time in which your mother was alive, but all images of her were blurred and distorted. 

"Lady Catelyn, lovely to see you this morning."

Your father's voice broke through your thoughts, anchoring you back to the present. You lifted your head that rested in your palm and glanced over at the older woman who seated yourself at your table. 

"Likewise, Lord Anson," she said politely with a tight smile that you thought looked like it should belong to a bird of some sort. "Y/N, must I remind you not to slouch? Has your father neglected to teach you the proper way for a lady to sit?"

Your father chuckled as you scowled and re-positioned yourself--spine straight against the back of your chair. It was far too uncomfortable to your liking, hence why you slouched so much. If had been anyone else who reprimanded you for such things you would sink lower into the chair, but you respected Lady Catelyn and there would be Hell to pay if you refused her request. You learned that lesson when you were a little girl of age five when you threw a chunk of mutton at Robb. Three days of Septa Mordane talking your ear off about how to be a 'proper lady' was your punishment. 

You still shuddered at the memory. 

"There we are, dear," Lady Catelyn praised, flashing you a rare genuine smile. "Even if you wield your father's blade you are still a Lady of House Anson." 

"Yes, my Lady," you grumbled, resisting the urge to sink back into a slouch. 

She eyed you one last time then launched into conversation with your father. You were quick to leave after that, swiping one last sausage from your father before he realized and skipped out the Great Hall. 

You squinted at the brightness outside and hugged your cloak closer to your warm body, taking a bite out of your stolen food. Flurries of light snow graced the air as your adjusting eyes scanned the square for any familiar faces you could bother for a while until you figured out what to do. 

You easily spotted the eldest Stark boy with Theon and Bran, huddling around an archery target, attempting to successfully fire an arrow. You happily trotted their way, drawing their eyes as you approached. 

An excited gleam sparked in Bran's eye as he shouted your name, dropping his bow in the mud so he could give you a tight hug. You chuckled and patted the back of his head, inclining your head in hello towards the two older boys. 

Theon rolled his eyes and grunted out a ' _good_ _morning'_ while Robb's face lifted into a huge smile, the conversation from last night seemingly forgotten by the young lord. 

"Y/N! Come to show off?" He jested, picking up the bow Bran tossed aside. "I know archery is your  _favorite_."

"Shut up," you barked, breaking away from Bran's embrace. You  _despised_  archery. You were never any good at it; a fact that neither Robb nor Theon seemed to let you forget. "I'm better than Theon."

"Liar," Theon scoffed, tugging on the end your braid. "You're worse than Bran." 

You narrowed your eyes at your friend and snatched the bow from Robb's hands. You were  _not_  worse than Bran. 

The two lords chuckled as Bran cheered for you. You flashed the little lord a crooked grin and cocked an arrow, aiming at the red center of the target. You inhaled deeply and on your exhale you released the tension of the string, whooping loudly once your arrow hit the center with a loud ' _thump_ '. 

Bran shouted with glee, jumping up and down with excitement. You spun on your heel and bowed deeply, the ends of your cloak brushing the muddy ground. A smug grin lined your lips as the two lords stood dumbfounded at your stroke of luck. 

"I believe some ass-kissing is in order," you hummed, shoving the longbow back to Robb. 

Theon was quick to snap out of his stupor, "Aye, I'll gladly kiss your arse, Y/N." 

Your face scrunched up in distaste as your cheeks reddened, "I'd rather you keep your lips far away from my arse, thank you." 

Theon smirked and winked, his arms shooting out to grab your middle. You shrieked and squirmed in his grip at the sudden movement, drowning in laughter as he hoisted you up and attempted to place a kiss on your cheek. 

"Theon! Get off!" You giggled, your hands and arms stuck in Theon's grip, the tips of your toes barely brushed the ground. "Robb! Help!"

The auburn haired boy was laughing too hard to hear you as your face contorted in mock disgust once Theon placed his chapped lips on your red, freckled cheek.  

"If I can't have your other cheeks, then I'll settle for this." He snickered, catching your dark glare. 

"Let me go, fucker," you snorted, squirming around once again. "Or I'll cut your balls off." 

"Why would I let you go if you you're goin' to do that?" He joked, raising a brown brow. 

You scowled and struggled even more, sending a pleading glance at Robb. As much as you loved Theon, being held against your will at an uncomfortable height while being compressed against his chest was not ideal for you. 

"Robb," you whined, "Make him let go." 

Robb crossed his arms and smirked, "I can't, Y/N" 

"You  _can_ ," you insisted. 

"Can't."

"Can."

"Can't."

" _Can,"_ you seethed. 

"Ithink you're jus' upset that someone like me can pick you up like a child," Theon interjected, earning a scowl from yourself. 

"Let me go, asshole," you sighed. You weren't having much fun now. "I swear-"

"That's not very lady like, Y/N," Robb teased, a mischievous sparkle in his Tully blue eyes. 

You sighed and muttered a curse under your breath, having half the mind to ask Bran for help. Yet that idea flew out the window when you saw he had ran off, no doubt to play inside the Godswood. 

"Fine, bloody fine," you exhaled dramatically and mustered up enough sweetness to line your voice that could get any man to swoon. "Oh Lord Greyjoy, heir to the Iron Islands, will you find it in your  _large_  heart to let a kitten like me free? I  _swear_  I'll be a good little girl." 

You heard Robb choke. Never had he heard such sweetened tones fall from your lips. It caused a sudden rush of warmth to pool below his stomach. He was sure the same happened to Theon since the male loosened his grip enough for you to escape. 

You dashed away before Theon could snatch you up again--deciding to place yourself far enough away from  _both_  of the lords. 

"Seven Hells, Y/N," you heard Theon mumble. "With a mouth like that you could wind up in a handsome lord's chambers this evening." 

You missed the flash of jealously flickering in Robb's eyes. 

"Uhg, no," you snorted, rolling your eyes. "I have standards." 

"Ouch." 

You rolled your eyes once more before turning on your heel, unaware of a certain man with auburn hair following your every step until you disappeared around a corner. 

"She does have a lovely body," Theon hummed. "I'm not surprised you're infatuated." 

Theon laughed wickedly as Robb slapped him on the back of his head.

~~~~*~~~~

"-and you have to see which dress looks better--Y/N?"

He was leaving. Jon Snow was leaving for the Wall. How could he be so stupid? That damn, stupid, idiotic-

"Y/N!" Sansa cried, shaking your arm to catch your attention. You eyes met hers in question. 

"Yes, blue is a very lovely color, Sansa," you responded, hoping that your answer was somewhat acceptable. 

"You weren't listening to a word I was saying!" Sansa accused, her red brows furrowing. "You were just off in your own head again." 

"Was not," you denied, leading the eldest daughter of Lord Stark up to her room. She was in a tizzy about which dress she should wear when the King came. In all honesty you could care less, but Sansa was your friend--sort of. 

"You're worse than Arya," she huffed, rolling her pretty green eyes. "As I was saying...Will you help me pick out a dress?" 

"Er, sure, Sansa," you shrugged opening the door for the young lady. "The King is coming tomorrow right?"

"Yes," she confirmed, seating herself delicately upon a padded stool in her room. "I'm so excited!"

"It's just the King," you grumbled, picking up one of Sansa's various perfumes. "Why do you have all this shit?"

"Don't swear," she bit back. "A lady shouldn't swear." 

"This lady doesn't care," you snickered, setting the glass perfume bottle back on her mirror table. 

"Then how do you expect your father to give your hand in marriage? No man will want you." 

You shrugged, ignoring the little wiggle of hurt inside your heart. "I don't mind. I'm not very pretty or tall like a man wants, anyways." 

You saw Sansa frown, her pouty lips puffing out further. You envied her looks the more you studied her features. Her beautiful milk-white skin, long red hair and rare green eyes; she was beautiful and you weren't. Your skin became littered with scars over the years and your hair was messy and wild. Your face was covered with the infamous Anson freckles that you despised--a feature from your father, and the same eyes as your long dead mother. Your eyes weren't so bad, you thought. 

"That's not true, Lady Y/N!" She exclaimed, rushing over to sit next to you upon her plush bed. "I know a few who think you pretty." 

You raised an eyebrow at the girl. "If you say Theon, I'll toss myself out the window." 

"No, not  _him_ ," Sansa sighed, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. "I was speaking about my brother." 

"Bran?" You giggled as Sansa glared. 

" _No_. I meant Robb, stupid."

Your gut clenched. "Robb?"

"Yes. He told me so," she said proudly. 

_Robb? The_ Robb Stark thinks you pretty? Impossible. Sansa probably just pitied you and said some nonsense to shut you up. 

"And Jon," she continued. "He looks at you like Father does at Mother."

_Then why is that prick leaving?_

Though, you weren't one to question him. You were leaving as well, but oh! The Wall? You needed to chew his ear off this evening after you escaped Sansa's bedroom. 

"Right," you scoffed, "enough about my looks; you wanted to find a dress?"

Sansa perked up and waltzed over to her wardrobe and tossed you, not one, not two, but  _five_  dresses. You weren't sure if you would have the chance to find Jon now...

 

~~~~*~~~~

 

"Jon  _Fucking_  Snow," you swore, bursting through his bedroom door, uncaring of the fact he was missing a shirt. 

The black-haired boy jumped at least a foot off his bed, his eyes nearly popping out of his sockets at the sudden intrusion. Sure, you dropped by from time to time, but you were never frothing from the mouth with a bonfire ignited within your (color) irises. 

"Y/N-"

"Shut the fuck up," you hissed, pointing at the man before slamming his door shut. Your words were probably better said behind closed doors, "and sit down." 

You clenched your fists, burning red with heat from your rage and the lit fireplace in his room. You tore off your cloak and shot daggers at Jon who nervously teetered on the edge of his bed, unsure why you were furious with him. You never rose your voice at him. 

"The Wall?!" You cried.

_Ah_ , so that's why you were so flushed with anger. 

"The  _Wall_?" You repeated, burying your hands into your already tangled braid. "What the fuck are you thinking?" 

He said nothing, deciding that it was better for you to exhaust yourself rather than he fight you. 

"People don't fucking come back from that--that wasteland! Men die there without getting to say goodbye. They get picked off by creatures in the night and get their fucking heads chopped off if they so much as  _look_  at a girl! What the fuck, Jon?" 

Jon frowned. He didn't understand why you cared about what he did all of a sudden. You were leaving and he always dreamed of becoming a man of the Watch--you knew that; so why did you care?

"Those fucking criminals, I'll kill you. You're better than any of them. If-if you go I'll cut of your leg so you can't. I hate you." 

You had such a way with words. 

Jon's face fell as sudden tears dripped over your cheeks. You never cried. Jon had only seen you cry thrice in his life. Once when you arrived in Winterfell, clinging to your father's leg once your mother died. The second time was when your brother tripped you and you fell into the icy water of the Godswood; you thought the Gods would strike you down for sullying the water. Jon and Robb had to convince you for hours that you wouldn't be struck by lightning. Then the third; which was now. 

"Didn't you hear me, Jon? I hate you!" You voice wavered at the end as violent tears burst from your watering eyes, heavy sobs that racked your whole frame consuming you. 

You didn't care if he saw you cry. It hurt too much, too violently and this was the only way to fix it in your mind. 

You had no sense of time, as you curled into yourself and dropped to you knees, the stone freezing your limbs. Yet, your pain masked everything you felt besides the ache of your very soul. 

You thought this was easy--leaving. You thought you didn't care if Jon left and parted ways with you, but no. You dared say it hurt more than seeing your mother breath her last breath and stung more than your bother telling you he wished you dead. You couldn't comprehend it at all. 

Was it because you loved him? 

A heavy weight was placed over your shoulders, your stinging eyes blurry with salty tears glanced up from your hands now soaked. Soft fur lined the edges of your vision, your mind processing that Jon had thrown a blanket over you, as well as the said man kneeling down close to your own self. 

His pale face twisted with pain, brown eyes searching for a reason why his decision affected you so heavily. 

"Jon," you whispered, your voice raw and scratchy. 

Jon's heart split in two. 

You were so broken in that moment; face blotchy from tears as you cried on his floor. You were Y/N Anson. The girl who never cried and the girl who stayed strong even when the bravest warrior fled. Yet, here you were, sobbing over him.  _Him_.    

"S-say something, asshole," you whimpered, broken eyes glaring into his own. 

Jon's jaw clenched. You wanted him to say something? Fine. 

"Why do you care, Y/N?" 

Your brows furrowed as if you weren't sure why you cared. Though you were quick to answer. 

"Be-because I think I'm in love with you." 

Jon did a double take and found that he had topple onto his backside from shock.  _What_?

"Oh, you idiot," you sniffed, bringing up a shaking hand to wipe away some more of the salty beads of water that traversed down your face. "Just 'cos you're a bastard, it doesn't make you less of a person, Jon Snow. You are more honorable than many men I've met." 

"Not many then," he breathed, his mind still wrapping around the words that you spoke. 

Your eyes darkened as a sour expression filled your face, "Shut up." 

He did. 

"How many fucking times do I have to tell you, you fool? Being a bastard is not a shameful thing unless you make it out to be. So what if you won't become Lord of Winterfell? You could be on Robb's guard or...or marry someday and have children. You have a whole world and an entire lifetime to make your mark." 

Jon didn't know what transpired in that moment, but your words and the love he hid within himself for years years broke him free and convinced him that his next actions were necessary. 

His warm lips met your dry, salty ones, pressing into you with a force you never knew Jon could express. 

You kissed him back wholeheartedly, your small hands coming up to cup his jaw and drag him closer. The blanket he draped over you fell from your person as you moved, butterflies erupting inside your stomach as he placed one hand over your neck while the other hesitantly gripped your side. 

You had kissed a few boys before Jon, but it was nothing like this. This was pure passion--physically expressing what words couldn't describe--and you drowned in it. 

Your tongue dragged over his plush bottom lip, happy that Jon immediately reciprocated. It was sloppy and when you pulled away for a breath of air, your lip shone with his saliva. Though you didn't care as you pulled him back into another embrace, finding his tongue once more. 

His breath hitched as one of your cold hands moved down his bare back, a welcome detail that you hadn't noticed when you barged into his room. Jon's skin erupted in goosebumps and each time he shifted, you could feel the muscle move where your hand was splayed over his shoulder. 

You groaned as you pulled away, falling onto your back, hoping Jon would follow. He did eventually, pausing for a moment with heavy breaths as his fingers traced over the freckles he loved. Your blush formed beneath his fingers, causing a gentle smile to stretch over his parted mouth. 

"I-I love you too," he whispered, moving himself between your clothed legs and catching your swollen lips. 

You couldn't tell who breathed which breath--you shared everything after all and soon after you broke apart, as your fingers hurriedly untied the laces of your blouse. You smirked at the starstruck man above you. His warm eyes hungry to see you, yet amazed. 

You tossed the offending garment to some obscure corner and dove your hands into the soft tresses of Jon's curly black locks. You kissed him again, gasping once his fingers curiously traced the newly exposed skin of your upper half.

You were so soft, and the scent and taste of you was overwhelming for Jon. Gods know how many times he had imagined touching you like this in the dead of night in his chambers. It was embarrassing how much he thought about it.

Yet, the real thing--the real you, blew his mind. Your hands reached between you to unwrap your undergarment that hid your breasts from view, the excitement nearly making him burst then and there. 

You grinned up at him with a coy smile and took his hand that laid innocently against your waist up to your breast, forcing his hand to cover it fully. You whimpered as the fascinated man carefully toyed with your hardened nipple, glancing up every few seconds to make sure he wasn't hurting you. Jon was far from it. 

Lust burned through you, your teeth biting into your lip as Jon bent down to swirl his warm tongue over the perked bud, his hand toying with your other tit. You bit back a moan and tangled your fingers in his hair, your body forming a mind of its own. 

You knew what sex was--knew how to do it based on tidbits you overheard from the maids and servants around Winterfell. Though, most of your knowledge came from Theon Greyjoy who spared no detail about his whore stories. From what you could pieced together you knew men liked it when you touched them _'down_   _there',_ butyou had no idea how to go about it. You could feel Jon through his trousers, his cock pressing against your hip as he fondled your chest, mesmerized by the feel. 

Risking a chancy move, you moved a hand to his shoulder, your nails lightly scraping over his pale skin as you moved down and down, finally reaching the waistline of his pants. Jon groaned loudly and pressed his hips into your hand as your palmed him, a rush of arousal eating away at his insides. 

Jon had touched himself before, but it never felt this good. He craved more and ground his hips into your hand that gripped him, his member growing harder. He broke away from your breasts, wet from his saliva, and groaned again as you became bolder and rubbed your hand back and forth over the bulge. Though, he had to stop you once he felt the familiar tingles of release tickle his skin. 

"Y/N," he moaned into the crook of your neck, hot breath puffing across your skin. "Will you have me?"

You nodded, a heated blush consuming your features. You hastily pushed him away, tearing off your boots and pants and undies as he tugged off his own trousers, leaving him bare for your eyes. You bit your lip and shyly met his sparkling eyes, scooting back onto the soft blanket forgotten on the ground. The bed was too far away in your opinion and if Jon had no protests, then neither did you. 

He crawled back over your body, now completely bare for him to see. He smiled nervously and traced your jaw and bottom lip, leaning down to kiss it. You giggled and trapped his head between you clammy hands, your heart beating with love for the beautiful man above you. 

"T-Theon, said a man should touch a woman between her legs, but-"

You silenced him with a kiss, uninterested in hearing about Theon. Yet, you did help your poor lover out and showed his fumbling fingers to your wet center, breath hitching at the gentle brush.

You showed him the little nub above your entrance, a high-pitched moan escaping your lips as he touched it. He was amazed at your wetness and soon after you removed your hand to let him explore, one of his digits slipped into your core. You whimpered and hugged him closer, your hips rocking into his hand. 

He buried his nose into your sweet smelling hair and added another finger, slowly curling them up like Theon told him to do. Jon felt pride as you arched into him and whispered his name, his fingers slowly pumping into you core. You squirmed and latched your fingers around Jon's wrist, the knot in your belly crying for more. 

"Jon, take me already."

He happily complied and moved up your body, positioning himself so his straining member rested against your slick lower lips. He wanted this for so long and although he made up his mind about going to the Wall, he would always remember this, even after he would take his vows. 

"Y/N...are you a maiden?" he suddenly asked as you began to wiggle impatiently underneath him. 

"Yes, but who cares. Fuck me Jon Snow or I'll hurt you." 

He snorted at your empty threat and carefully reached between your bodies to spread your wet lips and push the head of his cock into your entrance. You groaned softly as he slowly pushed in deeper, ignoring the slight sting of having your walls stretched. He wasn't huge, but his length was far from being small. He bottomed out and released a throaty moan, his chest molding to yours as he stayed still for a moment, enjoying how your wetness fully encased him. The feeling was unreal. 

"Jon," you whined into his ear, "please." 

He nodded and rolled his hips, pulling back far enough to gently thrust back into your heat. You groaned and threw your head back, the knot of pleasure tightening inside the pit of your stomach. You wrapped your legs around Jon, feeling his strong hands grip your thighs for better leverage as he moved in and out of your core. 

Yet you soon craved for more and the languid pace wasn't enough to reach your release. 

"Jon, faster," you pleaded, your fingernails digging into his skin. 

The man complied, sweat already forming on his dark hairline and moved faster, a string of curses leaving his mouth. He abandoned his grip on your thighs for caging your head instead, his elbows biting into the soft blanket. Your hip rose to meet him as his cock slammed into you, the sound of slapping skin and quiet moans filling Jon's room. 

It was so wrong, you thought, fucking him. He was your best friend--or at least  _had_  been before now. Yet, it felt so right and every thrust of his hips sent you closer and closer the edge of release. 

He said your name, sending tingles down your spine and making you clench around him. He jerked and buried his hand in your hair, his body grasping for that familiar need of release. Jon thought you were also close, judging by your flushed face screwed up in pleasure and how your core squeezed his cock every time he rocked forward. 

"Jon!" You cried as he suddenly brought his thumb up to your little nub of nerves, rubbing gentle circles that had you flying over the edge. 

You gripped his hair tightly as your body tensed and shuddered, your eyes snapping shut as wave after wave of your release burned through you. You never wanted it to stop but once you reached your peak, your skin became sensitive and your center sore. 

Yet, Jon wasn't far behind. Just a few more hard thrusts and he was falling over his own edge, shooting his warm release inside of you with a throaty moan. He collapsed over you, his mouth finding the sweaty skin of your neck and placed soft kisses there. You panted and toyed with his hair, content not to say a word. 

You knew he wouldn't change his mind about the Wall, but for now you were happy to just hold him, even for one night.   

 

**Author's Note:**

> GOD ITS SO LONG LMAO.


End file.
